To Baby or Not To Baby

One woman's struggle with the fateful decision whether to have children.

This was an attitude I shared with most of my friends. On my bedroom dresser stood a studio portrait of "The Herd" -- the six close friends I had grown up with and me -- taken just before our graduation from high school. We were all intelligent, talented, highly motivated Jewish girls from suburban South Jersey. By the time the seven of us hit 37, only two of us were married with children.

I had spent my adult life -- from the day after I graduated college until then -- living in an ashram, a Hindu-style monastic community, so, of course, children were not an option for me. But what about my friends?

I sometimes wondered why children were nowhere on their list of priorities. We had all grown up in loving, close-knit families. In that era when divorce was still so rare as to be a shanda, a disgrace, our parents were models of harmonious, family-centered couples. Why didn't we want to emulate them?

In the beginning, it was not so much a rejection of having children as a postponement. Barbara had to first finish law school and put in a few years establishing her law career. Marlene, a card-carrying socialist, was working in the inner city saving black kids. Brenda was expressing herself in theater. Shelly was trying to implement "open classroom" techniques in her 3rd grade suburban schoolroom. There was plenty of time later to decide whether to become a mother.

THE DECISION

I was riding on a ramshackle bus in Darjeeling, India, in the fall of my 31st year when I made my final decision not to have children. I was traveling with Jairam, the ashram's caretaker. Sitting there as the bus bumped through the streets of Darjeeling, in the foothills of the Himalayas, Jairam asked me, "So, you're satisfied never to have children?"

Having children meant leaving the ashram, being exiled from my spiritual paradise. On the other hand, I felt my biological clock winding down. In those days, few women had their first child past thirty. I did not want to leave the ashram for some unforeseen reason in my mid-thirties, only to find that I had missed my last chance to bear a child. The "never" in Jairam's question echoed in my heart.

The truth was that I was not particularly fond of children. I did not buy into the mentality that all children are innocent, sweet, and lovable just because of their juvenile status. To "love children" as a group was to me as inane as loving all New Englanders or all redheads.

I believed then in reincarnation, that souls come back into this world again and again, each time bearing the luggage of previous lifetimes. Jack the Ripper as a toddler was neither innocent nor adorable, of this I was sure. How did I know if that rambunctious five-year-old darting around with his nose running wouldn't grow up to be a murderer or rapist, or had been a Nazi the last time around? What was so endearing about a small body with a nasty occupant?

Why should I squander my education and talents on diapering babies?

Besides, in a certain sense I felt that raising children was intellectually beneath me. Any high school drop-out could procreate. I disdained parenting as a plebeian pastime. At that point, I was administering the ashram, was in charge of its considerable investments, and running its publishing department. Why should I squander my education and talents on diapering babies?

If I condescended to bear children, how many years would have to pass, how many sleepless nights endured, before I could even have an intelligent conversation with my offspring? I equated parenting with putting my intellect into suspended animation, to be thawed out only at their high school graduation. Let those cut out for "coochie, coochie, coo" wile away a decade of their lives. I despised baby talk.

Moreover, I subscribed to the Hindu-Buddhist worldview that this world is a locus of suffering. What favor was it to other souls to bring them into this vale of tears? Although I, in fact, had had as happy a childhood as anyone could have (given the inherent anguish of rejected crushes and acne), in college I had realized how miserable most human beings are. Why subject anyone, let alone my own children, to a stint in the detention facility known as this world?

So, staring out the window at the distant Himalayas, I answered Jairam with quiet conviction: "Yes, having children is not for me. My life belongs at the ashram."

JUDAISM

At the age of 37, for unforeseen reasons [see "From India to Israel" ], I left the ashram and went to Jerusalem to study Torah. I loved the depth and profundity of my classes, the religious Jews I met -- all sincere spiritual aspirants, the spiritually quickened atmosphere of Jerusalem, and especially the wise and compassionate teachers. In the whole scene, which reminded me of India in the 60s, only one thing really bothered me: the given that everyone who could marry would marry and have children.

I balked. I had invested my entire adult life in pursuing a certain goal -- enlightenment. The ashram had taught me that children and spiritual practices were incompatible. Even here, in my rented apartment in the Old City of Jerusalem, I rose early, spent one hour doing yoga and meditating, and another two hours praying the Jewish morning prayers, meditating on the deep import of every word. This regime would be impossible with a crying baby or a meddlesome toddler. I was not willing to throw 17 years of arduous spiritual practice into the diaper pail.

In my gut I was still convinced that children and spiritual attainment were mutually exclusive.

I took my dilemma to Rabbi Yitzhak Ginsburgh, a highly respected Kabbalist whose weekly class in English I zealously attended.

"I'm afraid that if I have children, I will forfeit all my spirituality," I complained.

Rabbi Ginsburgh looked at me as if I had made a preposterous equation, as if I had said, "I am afraid that if I get a job, I'll lose all my money."

He then launched into a Kabbalistic explanation (much of which left me far behind) of why bringing souls down into this world is the spiritually highest thing that human beings can do. "Souls come from the highest of the ten sefirot -- the channels of Divine energy that are manifest in the world. When a husband and wife unite in holiness, they conceive a soul which descends from the highest of the ten sefirot, keter, or 'crown.' The level of keter is in no other way accessible to human beings."

Mulling over Rabbi Ginsburgh's words on the bus home, the one message that stuck in my head was: Yes, even a high school drop-out can bring a child down into this world. For that matter, even a high school drop-out can win the lottery. That doesn't make the jackpot any less glorious.

But I still resisted. In my gut I was still convinced that children and spiritual attainment were mutually exclusive, like children and a clean house. I decided to take my predicament to my ultimate spiritual advisor, the Hassidic Rebbe of Amshonav.

The Amshinover Rebbe embodied the spiritual greatness I was striving to attain. He meditated deeply on every word of every prayer, taking a full two hours to pray the Grace after Meals, which most Jews zip through in five minutes. So long did it take him to complete the extensive Shabbat prayers, with all his Kabbalistic meditations on every word, that he usually ended Shabbat on Tuesday.

I had seen the holy Rebbe three times before, always in the middle of the night. The procedure was to request and be granted an appointment on a particular night, then on that night, around midnight, to go to the Rebbe's tiny third floor apartment in the Jerusalem neighborhood of Bayit Vegan, and to patiently wait one's turn. At between 3 and 4 in the morning, the frosted glass doors to the dining room, where the Rebbe received his visitors, would slide open, and his attendant would gesture to me to enter.

When I requested an appointment this time, however, I was informed that the Rebbe was now seeing people only during the day and to be there promptly at 2:45 in the afternoon.

The apartment looked totally different with the Rebbe's family (7 daughters at that time) awake and about. Two daughters with long, dark braids passed me on their way to the minuscule kitchen. When the attendant ushered me into the dining room, I noticed a baby in a pink stretchy standing up in a playpen in the far corner of the room.

The Rebbe and the baby were both peering earnestly at me.

The Rebbe rushed in (he always walks fast) and sat down directly across the dining room table from me. I was ready with my question: "Wouldn't taking care of babies be an obstacle to my spiritual attainment?" But before either of us could speak, the baby in the corner started to wail.

"Excuse me," the Rebbe said, jumping up. He rushed over to the playpen, lifted up the baby, quieted her, carried her back to the table, and sat down again facing me, the baby in his lap.

"Now, what was your question?" the Rebbe asked me kindly, both he and the baby peering earnestly at me.

My question froze in my mouth. Seeing the holiest person I knew involved in the very activity I disdained made me feel that God Himself was rebutting my argument.

Despite my lingering doubts, my subconscious resistance to motherhood, I decided to take a leap of faith into the abyss of marriage and children, hoping that it would be okay. I started to go out with eligible men, embarking on a path that leads to only one destination: the chupah.

THE COPERNICAN REVOLUTION

Once I had committed myself to the path of raising a family, I became more aware of what lay behind my qualms in the first place.

It had always mystified me why my friends and I, who had enjoyed such happy home lives, should shrink from passing the favor along to another generation. I could understand abused children who vowed never to procreate. But we had been showered with all the love that unsophisticated middle class Jewish parents lavished on their offspring, plus all the material benefits and pre-Prozac security that the 1950s bestowed on its children. Why were we so averse to replicating our own experience?

It dawned on me that we couldn't replicate our own experience.

We had been the doted upon center of our parents' universe. In my case, born when my mother was 37 and my father 44, I was, like in a Hassidic tale, the beloved child of their old age. My parents adored me and my brother (21 months my senior).

My father worked a 12-hour day in the drug store to earn enough to pay for our art lessons, piano lessons, and horse-back riding lessons. (He would have sprung for voice lessons, too, had the voice teacher not announced that I was hopeless.)

My parents saved every spare penny, never going out to eat or indulging in hobbies, for our college education. My mother devoted her every waking hour to cooking the dishes we loved, making the house comfortable for us, helping us with our homework, etc., etc. I remember at the age of 12, my mother taking me shopping in Philadelphia and buying me the latest fake-fur coat, while she herself wore a cloth coat that was almost as old as I was. She betrayed no sense of martyrdom. It was truly her joy.

If I had children, far from replicating my own experience, I would be turning it inside out. Nothing less than a Copernican revolution: I had been the center of my parents' universe. Having children (I knew instinctively from my own parents) meant making them the center, and relegating myself to a faithful orbit around them.

Hardest of all, I would have to relinquish my sense of control.

My needs would be secondary to theirs. My preferences would submit to theirs. Vacations would be theme parks and kiddie amusements, not relaxing getaways in nature. Going to the beach would mean building sandcastles and jumping the waves, not reading a book and swimming out deep. Surrendering my role as protagonist in my own life would be as difficult as the prima donna stepping back to sing with the chorus while awarding the aria to her own skinny, prepubescent daughter.

Hardest of all, I would have to relinquish my sense of control. Children were unpredictable. My schedule to go to bed at 11:30 and get up at 6:30 would not assure me seven hours of sleep, not with teething toddlers, not with nightmare-plagued five-year-olds. No expensive new dress was immune to the stains of chocolate covered hands. No immaculately cleaned room would withstand ten minutes of ransacking for a misplaced toy. No carefully planned excursion would resist the sheer hell of squabbling adolescents.

I was used to life in the boardroom: polite discourse and mutual acknowledgment, presided over by reason and efficiency. Children were like life in the barnyard: dirt and pandemonium presided over by brute instinct.

FRAGILE VESSELS

As I continued to meet various eligible men, I became aware of a still deeper dread which welled up in me whenever I imagined myself as a mother. Had a Freudian psychiatrist asked me to free-associate the word, "children," I would have responded: "vulnerable little beings who can die."

For years I had had the sense, bolstered by experiences and dreams, that I was a reincarnated soul from the Holocaust. I felt like I had been through the horror of seeing my children die in front of me. The most frightening prospect of loving and devoting myself to my children was the possibility, hanging like a suspended sword, that they could die. In the end, this, more than anything, fueled my resistance to pouring my life and love into a vessel as fragile as a child.

Then one night, 14 months after I moved to Jerusalem, I had a dream where, in the recesses of my subconscious mind, I put to rest this last remaining issue. When I woke up, much to my own surprise, I sat straight up in bed and said, "Now I can get married and have children."

THE JACKPOT

Two months later, I met a 39-year-old musician from California. We got married a month shy of my 39th birthday. At the age of forty, I gave birth to my first child, a daughter.

My overwhelming feelings during my first months of motherhood were delight and surprise. Holding my baby in my arms, I felt such sheer joy every day that I would break out into laughter. Not a polite snicker, but an open-mouthed, head-back laughter. Always followed by the question: "Why didn't anyone tell me it would be this wonderful?"

The first time my baby smiled, I felt like I had just won a million dollars.

The first time my baby smiled, as I carried her one day from her crib to the changing table, I felt like I had just won a million dollars. A surge of such jubilation filled me that I thought I would fly, just levitate straight off the floor.

When I would nurse my baby, I felt a sense of total contentment, of potential realized. Being replacing a lifetime of becoming.

I would wonder: How could I have ever thought that this is mindless drudgery? I felt like all my creativity was being tapped in order to distract the baby when she got fussy, to stimulate her developing brain, to avoid the pitfalls of parenting. I had administered an organization, written a 640-page book, delivered weekly lectures to adulating audiences, but nothing I had ever done gave me the sheer joy and satisfaction of raising my baby.

Nothing impinged on this heady exultation. Even when I would change her diaper, the activity which had stigmatized motherhood for me, I would be filled with wonder at how the milk which she sucked from me (itself a miraculous substance) would somehow feed all her diverse millions of cells and then be eliminated through an alimentary system so perfect and elegant in design. As I pinned her clean diaper on (I was an aficionado of cotton diapers), I would feel like I was tripping on love -- love for my baby, love for her Creator, love for my blessed, ever so blessed, life.

But together with joy and surprise was another feeling: a sense of how close I had come to missing all this. What if I had stayed at the ashram another few years? What if I had not reversed my decision not to bear children? It would have been like having a winning lottery ticket and tossing it out with the credit card receipts and scraps of paper that accumulate at the bottom of my purse. I would never have known that the jackpot was mine.

Related Articles:

About the Author

Sara Yoheved Rigler is the author of God Winked: Tales and Lessons from my Spiritual Adventures, as well as the bestsellers: Holy Woman, Lights from Jerusalem, and Battle Plans: How to Fight the Yetzer Hara(with Rebbetzin Tziporah Heller). She is a popular international lecturer on subjects of Jewish spirituality. She has given lectures and workshops in Israel, England, Switzerland, South Africa, Mexico, Chile, Canada, and over thirty American cities. A graduate of Brandeis University, after fifteen years of practicing and teaching meditation and Eastern philosophy, she discovered "the world's most hidden religion: Torah Judaism." Since 1985, she has been living as a Torah-observant Jew in the Old City of Jerusalem with her husband and two children. She presents a highly-acclaimed Marriage Workshop for women [seewww.kesherwife.com] as well as a Gratitude Workshop. To invite her to your community, please write to info@sararigler.com.

Visitor Comments: 48

(33)
Girl,
January 9, 2013 10:46 PM

I am a Christian, BTW, (I enjoy the wisdom found in Aish), and I don't think everyone is meant to have children. Sara's case, though wonderful, I don't believe is common. She was meant to have children, and God performed a miracle in her life to give her the desire and a ability.
Most people have children because they truly "want" children. Never do I hear someone say, "Oh, it's going to be so hard having children, and we're not that excited or even think we're fit to be parents, but we're going to have them anyway." Ha! No, most people having children really want them--or they just do it because they want to be like everyone else.
If God has given you no desire for children, might that me for a reason? We all have different gifts--must we "all" have the gift of procreation? God said to be fruitful and multiply when the world was created. I would say we are plenty populated by now.
Though I like children, God hasn't given me any desire for children of my own. It simply isn't there, though I know I would fully embrace it and love it were it to happen, because I would trust it was God's plan, and I would find joy in it. However, unless a miracle happens in my life like it did in Sara's, I don't see myself ever changing my mind on this.
To Anonymous above with financial problems:
If you want children, don't let financial problems stop you. I believe wanting children and not having them would be too big of a regret. Trust that God will provide. There are so many people of faith in the Jewish bible who trusted in God to provide--they went after their dreams and had faith.

(32)
shira,
January 7, 2013 7:53 PM

After reading this article I feel so sorry for all the lost yrs of parenthood and children that could've been but did not happen due to all kinds of reasonings which are often just excuses.. Its a pity that ppl find it so hard to commit-- whether to marriage or kids!

Ania,
January 12, 2013 1:29 AM

Hardly

I hardly think that her time is 'wasted'. Obviously her many years spent searching for truth has allowed her to become the person she is-and to truly be a great mother. Saying she has 'lost years' is making it sound like she is a farm animal or breeding machine. She is herself a whole individual-needing to overcome her issues with her dreams etc. before being able to embark on such a gargatuous task as raising another human being. G-d knew she needed the time to become who she was mean to become-she met her husband-and he was at the same level as she. It is G-d's timing, not ours; and saying that such things are 'excuses' makes having children sound cheap.

(31)
Anonymous,
January 7, 2013 7:51 PM

Whether to have another child

I am debating whether to have another child. I currently have only one, who I love, but I have found that I do not enjoy being a parent. I try to enjoy being a mother, but most of the time I feel regret. It is hard to explain but a lot of it stems from having postpartum depression ocd. The first year I basically thought of killing my child over and over and couldnt get the thoughts to leave despite my desire for them to do so. I also had had a terrible child birth with a fourth degree tear and a multitude of infections that continued for three months. I was in a constant state of pain physically and emotionally. My daugther is now 18 months and my husband cannot envision us having another child. He basicaly had to stop working for the first three months to ensure the safety of our daughter and me and cannot consider going through this again. As for myself, I am not sure either if it is the right thing to do but I feel like then I am not fulfilling the jewish obligation of being fruitful and multiply. My best friend tells me that this is no reason to have more children but it is always in the back of my mind.

Yael,
January 10, 2013 2:56 AM

One step at a time

Dear Anonymous, I read your comment and really feel for your turmoil. In my humble opinion, it sounds like you need to give yourself time and there's no need to make a final decision today. Your baby is really still a baby, 18 months is still very young. It sounds like you need to do some more healing physically and emotionally before you can even think too far in the future. If I were you, I would just focus on being the best Mom you can be right now to the blessing of a child you have, get the help you need to make it easier on you and your family and speak to a professional therapist and rabbi to help you in your decision making. May you have much health and success and lots of nachas from your child(ren). :) .

Deena,
January 15, 2013 8:50 PM

Yael's comment

Yael's comment is excellent advise. Enjoy your baby and don't worry about whether or not you should have another one. Don't worry about being fruitful and multiplying. But I would suggest that you do get some help from an expert therapist, especially about the feelings of killing your precious, little baby, who loves you so much. Even though those feelings have passed, it would be a good idea to get some help.

(30)
Anonymous,
January 6, 2013 5:45 PM

I Totally Relate!

(Continued from a previous comment)
When Blaise was a child, he and I had a closer relationship, being almost like best friends, than I could have imagined. I marveled at the intimate feelings that he would express to me and cherished our closeness. Sadly, I saw this intimacy wane as he passed through his teen years and entered adulthood, but I believe that this change is normal and healthy.
Blaise is now twenty-five and an attorney. I couldn't be more proud of the man that he has made of himself, although my greatest sorry is the fact that he has rejected the faith that he embraced as a child. I pray daily that he may return to his belief in the God Who has so richly blessed him physically, financially, intellectually, and socially.
As for me, I hate to think what I would have missed out on had I had my own way and remained childless. My life would have been so impoverished without the opportunity to raise another human being! No other experience available to mankind can compare in the learning and rewards that it engenders.

(29)
Melanie Vliet,
January 6, 2013 5:40 PM

I Totally Relate!

Although my spiritual journey was nothing like Sara's, my journey to motherhood was very similar. My husband and I had agreed before marrying not to have children. When I became pregnant ten years later, I thought that it was the worst thing that could happen to me (other than being raped). I was not a patient person and expected children to behave as adults, although I knew that they never did so.
When I learned that I was pregnant, I asked God why He would entrust one of His precious creatures to me. In my only experience of receiving a palpable answer to a question I had asked him, He assured me, "You're right; I wouldn't give you a child you couldn't love."
It was soon thereafter, about ten weeks into my pregnancy, when in my doctor's office a feeling that I had never had before welled up inside me. I was undergoing my first ultrasound. The doctor pointed out the flashing that was my son's heartbeat and told me that the fact that we could see this vastly reduced the chances of a miscarriage. Then, as we watched, my as yet unnamed little Blaise began kicking his tiny legs above him as he lay on his back. I hadn't realized that embryos moved before their mothers could feel their movements. I was overwhelmed by the sight and realized at that moment that I could--and did--love this tiny person.
Being the mother of an infant changed me completely. I went from a selfish person concerned primarily with her own needs and desires to one devoted first and foremost to satisfying the needs and desires of a helpless human being. It was wonderful as a nursed him to think that all that Blaise needed in order to live came from me. I loved the sound of his sucking and tried to memorize it for posterity.
(Continued in a second comment due to length restrictions)

(28)
Anonymous,
January 6, 2013 11:33 AM

To plan a family or not to plan a family

As someone who struggling with the decision to have children, I can empathize with the author. My hesitation to start a family soon is attributed to the financial circumstances we are in right now. We are in our late twenties and have been married for 3 years. We've been struggling to make ends meet. My husband is balancing a part time job and grad school. It nearly took me 2 years to find a full time job shortly after we were married. While I'm thankful to be having a job right now, we are still in the process of improving our circumstances which have not been easy. Our parents contribute whatever and whenever they can but we were and still on our own to pay for our expenses. Additionally, I'm nearing 30 and am deciding if its still worth it to start a family. My 2 younger married siblings are expecting which exacerbates the pressure on us to have a family already. I would like to have children but I need to be financially, psychologically, and emotionally prepared to embark on this responsibility. I am also concerned that having a baby will jeopardize my job because most employers are hesitant to hire mothers, even for part time positions. I've heard stories of expectant mothers being laid off from their jobs and I don't want find myself in that predicament. Plus I don't the logic behind having a family you can't support which I can't at the moment. I'm trying to remain optimistic and hoping for improvement. If we weren't financially constraint, we would have had at least 2 kids by now,

moshe,
January 6, 2013 5:12 PM

worth the debt

not that this should be your fate, but i've never heard a parent who needed to go in to debt to help their child say, "we should've never had this kid b/c we cant afford'm". once you have your kids you'll know they're worth it all.

Marion,
January 6, 2013 5:38 PM

wait awhile only

My mother always said, "If you wait until you can afford a baby the human race would have died out a long time ago." So take a chance and very likely the world will open up and one of you will find more stable work. It is a risk, but I never regret having my daughter.

Anonymous,
January 6, 2013 7:28 PM

The only thing I have to say is: when it comes to money, it's never a sure thing. I've seen wealthy people lose most of what they have in a heartbeat. They could say the same things as the rest of us when it comes to money: who says I'll still have it tomorrow to raise my kids in style. My mother-in-law asked if finances came into the picture with family panning and my answer was unequivecal NO. We could just as soon win the lottery tomorrow, as warren buffet losing his today. Of course children drain you in the most unimaginable ways, but the fulfillment you experience, and depth the precious soles give our lives are immeasurable.

Anonymous,
January 6, 2013 9:52 PM

To anonymous

I had the same question as you do. Should one have children even if they can't afford it? What's the logic behind that? I recently read a book 'chochmot nashim' from rabbi Shalom Arosh and he writes in it that every child is sent to this world with its own luck and everything that comes with it. That means that there could be a child that is meant to live in a rich house but he's born into a poor family. Then the whole family profits from the wealth that came with that baby. A family could miss its chance at richness because they decided not to have a baby. Every baby comes to this world with its oen 'wallet' and you shouldn't worry bur have bitachon. The rabbi also brings a story in the book of a couple that came to him devastated because their circumstances in life were so horrible. Whatever could go bad, did. Then the rabbi asked them if they were taking anti conception pills without asking a sheile to a rabbi, and they said yes. So the rabbi said that that's the problem. When a person does that all the gates of sheffa (plentiness) in heaven close. Reading that really helped me understand the issue more. And I am confident having children without worrying about the financial part, because when you do the right thing God helps you much more then you expect. I hope this helps you.

Rochel,
January 6, 2013 11:08 PM

Each child brings with it a brocha from hashem

Anonymous, When you have a child Hashem sends you a bracha for whatever you need to take care of the child. You will never regret having children, but many regret not having them. Being financially comfortable should not be part of the equation. A person can be wealthy and have many children and then lose all his money. A poor person can have children and then become wealthy. Hashem runs the world. You do not need to be rich to have a child. Don't miss out just because of money.

Miriam,
January 7, 2013 2:06 AM

control

my husband and i are going through a similar situation. the answer to this is- give up control. If G-d sees it best that we have children now, even if we are on birth control- we will have a child, and the money needed to make it happen. If G-d sees it not best for us- even if we try continuously and have all the money in the world- it will not happen. So why are we trying so hard to play His part if He always gets his way anyway? instead we say "G-d, we 100% trust that whatever You do is best, so this is what we got- please give us children at the right time, with the right resources and strength we will need to raise them."

Miriam,
January 7, 2013 4:43 PM

You might want to listen to Rabbi Noah Weiinberg's class

about pain, pleasure and comfort (I think it's one of the Forty Eight Ways to Wisdom classes). It's illuminating and might help you with your decision.
As for myself I would give my life for any one of my children (as would every mother) so naturally I think having each one is "worth" anything. To me, children equals life. More children equals having more life. (Though obviously many people disagree with that point!)
Yes, kids do take alot of money, tons of time and basically every ounce of energy you've got! But so does life! And nobody want to die since living takes so much energy, right? Living is sweet, it's delicious, it's wonderful to live. And yes, it's really hard. Kids are the same way!

Anonymous,
January 7, 2013 10:07 PM

No perfect time

There's no such thing as a perfect time to have a child and no way to be completely prepared - only living the experience can you truly be there emotionally. Also don't take it for granted that getting pregnant / having a child will be quick or easy. Our 2nd (Baruch Hashem) was just born after 3 years of struggles. Our financial situation is currently bleak but there's absolutely no trade off to bringing children into he world!

so thankful,
January 8, 2013 8:05 PM

so thankful for my precious gifts

I had my son a year after I was married, while attending grad school. A year later, I became pregnant again, however, I was diagnosed with a chronic condition and soon after, I miscarried. It never occured to me that my baby might not be born. Whereas previously, the question was do I want more children, suddenly I was suddently faced with the question-can I have more children? Can I become pregnant? Can my body handle a pregnancy? Will the baby be healthy? It took 7 years of treatments (both medical and fertility) for my son to have a sibling. 7 years of longing and praying and begging Hashem to give me another child. With G-d's help, my son now has 2 sisters (3 years old and 1 year old) and I am very busy cleaning up, changing diapers, stopping the fighting etc. and I couldn't be happier. When something is so difficult to attain, it becomes so precious. Even the night waking, bed wetting, and THE MESS are precious to me. My message is:
Don't push it off. Having children is so special and precious. It is a gift,there is no guarantee that it will happen.

ignacio,
January 10, 2013 2:54 AM

financial problems?

I also had worries about financial problems, but you've got to know 2 important things:1. everything is from Heaven, and He can give you your sustent in many ways you don't know right now.Have Emuna!
2. Happines of having kids is worthy all the problems! I've just had my fourth baby, and this friday is the bris!

(27)
Yoshe,
September 5, 2005 12:00 AM

Thank you

Brought tears to my eyes. May you and your family be blessed continually by
G-d.

Malka,
January 6, 2013 10:37 PM

Amen

Very touching

(26)
Chana Levi,
August 16, 2005 12:00 AM

Motherhood

What a wonderful article - I really enjoyed it. When single, I too disliked babies - scrawny, squalling, smelly little creatures. I did enjoy toddlers and older children though, in fact I taught kindergarten and third grade for many years before marrying and having children. My first son was a difficult baby, colicky and screamed all the time. His three subsequent siblings were easier but I felt I was living in the middle of a whirlwind as they were growing up. Now, all too soon, it's all over, they are grown and mostly gone and the house is far too quiet. My husband and I are now seriously considering adopting two children and doing it all over again. Maybe we're crazy - and then again maybe not. It would be good to have the opportunity to do it all again, as older, wiser and more patient parents.
This is a poem I wrote when my children were little:

Thoughts on Motherhood

Fist he comes up to me with a big gooey hug,
Next he's pouring his apple juice over the rug.
At his siddur party I'm the world's proudest mother
But I'm tied up in knots when he fights with his brother.
Nobody warned motherhood was like this
Alternate moments of anguish and bliss.

-Chana Levi

(25)
Anonymous,
August 15, 2005 12:00 AM

You gave me courage

My husband and I are currently trying to conceive our first baby and it hasn't been easy for us. With all the stumbling blocks in our path, I sometimes wonder if it's not better to give up. Thank you for what you wrote. It's a reminder to keep my eyes on the prize.

Melanie,
January 6, 2013 5:46 PM

Don't Give Up!

Yes, you absolutely should keep trying. Please read my two (everything I had to say wouldn't fit into just one comment!) comments when they are approved and post.

(24)
Anonymous,
August 15, 2005 12:00 AM

Thank you - going through this myself

I'm an observant woman married for a few years now and I'm going through the same thing myself. Thank you for this article. We are trying to have children now, but the feelings that you described in this article are still lingering in the backround and I am doing my best to deal with them. I am preparing myself for a dirty house, no sleep, less time with my dear husband, etc.... and I'm a bit scared about it, but I think I'm handling it well. I look at all the other observant women around me with their babies (born during their first year of marriage!) and it scares the heck out of me .... why didn't/doesn't it bother them to relinguish their independence and time with their husband so quickly in their marriage.? I am trying to learn from them.

(23)
pamela,
August 15, 2005 12:00 AM

wonderfully written as usual. you really touch th soul

I look forward to your writings

(22)
Anonymous,
August 14, 2005 12:00 AM

great story

Before I read this article I read a question fron a mother who wasnt inspired by beeing a mother,Saras srory is a great answer!

(21)
farida,
August 14, 2005 12:00 AM

better late than never

Mazel tov! Thank you for sharing this heartwarming story. Just hope your wonderful parents lived to see their granddaughter. I can only imagine their pain of having you living so far away in ashram. Pray that your daughter will not do the same thing.

(20)
George Cohen,
August 14, 2005 12:00 AM

I love AISH. COM

I'm a lapsed Jew. I love learning the true philosophy of modern judaism. But, in my view, it's all eternal, of course. I love the open debate of the jewish faith.

GC

(19)
charlie hearn,
December 16, 2001 12:00 AM

inspiring

my girlfriend of 4 years has become pregnant which came as a complete shock ( about a week ago). One of the first questions that came into my mind was the same as yours and without answers there came a sense of guilt. the rebbe in your story gives me hope and a new sense of determination

(18)
Anonymous,
August 28, 2001 12:00 AM

Great!!!!!!

(17)
Charlene Rook,
July 31, 2001 12:00 AM

To Whom All Blessings Flow...

Sara: I was blessed by your story. There is NO higher calling on one's life than being a mother. Unfortunately, society tries real hard to convince women that motherhood is a step down from "successful." What a shame!!! I am so glad that God touched your heart and changed your mind.

(16)
Anonymous,
July 25, 2001 12:00 AM

wow!

(15)
seggio giovanni,
July 18, 2001 12:00 AM

wonderful story

I can't explain myself very well in english because I'm from Belgium but this true story is wonderful !

(14)
Anonymous,
July 18, 2001 12:00 AM

terrific

As an alte Zaide I enjoyed the story

(13)
Anonymous,
July 17, 2001 12:00 AM

Sometimes you must go through a journey to come to the truth.

(12)
Eluizabetg Levy,
July 17, 2001 12:00 AM

Wonderful article from a woman who "has been there" it gave me chills to think that I, too, almost missed the most glorious part of my life--pregnancy and motherhood and a gorgeous daughter at age 44--thank you for expressing yourself so very well. May all Jewish women, young and old alike benefit from your experience.

(11)
Gita,
July 17, 2001 12:00 AM

this is a story of light

we must positively take advantage of our "selves" to sanctify this world, through fulfilling Hashem's commandments - and for us, growing up in the sixties and seventies, nurtured on the idea that "freedom" and "happiness" is of utmost important, we may learn that real freedom is knowing our true identity, and happiness mya be found in any/all of G-d's creations, from a beautifully shaped leaf, through the rocky journey of understanding, and certainly through our children. as always Sara's articles are articulate and illuminating. thank you!!!

(10)
Anonymous,
July 16, 2001 12:00 AM

Brilliant! The article reveals every contemporary woman's fear that motherhood & children equal intellectual suspension. It places the struggle - to baby or not- into perspective & gives one a wake up call. I enjoy reading the author's articles and I do hope she writes a book.

(9)
Mark Jacobii,
July 16, 2001 12:00 AM

It's great to be a parent - albeit sometimes hard!

What a great article! Yes it is hard to be a parent - but really anyone who isn't is really poor! Poor because they miss out on this wonderful experience especially when your kids are Jewish and growing up with Torah.
Good Article Yasher Koach!

(8)
Kalman Packouz,
July 16, 2001 12:00 AM

Wow! What an article!!

Wow! What an article!! I could read Sara Rigler all day long. What a writer!!!

Let's get real here. Having children is not a continuous rapture of spiritual and maternal bliss. Neither does it mean never having time. privacy, or a clean house. Sometimes, any of these things may be true; the one thing I have learned from life with 5 children is that life is a constant state of flux. I have had moments of exhaltation and times of exhaustion and despair, experiences of deep satisfaction, and the sense that I was losing my self in a whirlpool of noise and demands. And at any given time, the wheel may turn, from positive to negative and back again.

I find it ironic that an inhabitant of a monastery so recoiled at the thought of giving over one's self and detatching from the material world. Parenting is surely that, but it is also more.

I do not agree with the school of thought that says a mother or father should give up "everything" for her/his children. In the first place, this is rarely necessary. In the second place, I doubt that this is the best thing for children (The author herself may be a case in point!); who says it's good to get all one's little heart desires, all the time? Third, the parent who lives vicariously through her child often eventually attempts to dress the child in her own discarded dreams and control the life of her offspring. Self will out--the question is when, how often, and in what manner.

Maybe you have to be a parent to see just how adolescent this "always" and "never" shtik is where the inconveniences and difficulties of raising children are concerned. Whine, whine, whine. Many people are proud of the sacrifices of personal time, effort, and self-pampering they made in order to get through law school or medical internship, to finish a doctorate or write a novel. They feel that such sacrifices were worthwhile because the goals were worthwhile. It is a terrible pity when bringing children into the world and educating them is not considered a significant task worthy of self-investment.

(6)
deborah betz,
July 15, 2001 12:00 AM

found happiness

I am happy that this writer has found happiness and fillment as a mother.But as a single parent for many years, who has struggled to feed her children, i am always amazed at the self indulgence and selfiness of people in this exile. this whole article is all about the writer's personal needs, no one elses. How sad. I pray that motherhood helps her understand that the world does not revolve around our individual needs

(5)
Anonymous,
July 15, 2001 12:00 AM

You say it so well!

What beautiful writing!
And thank you -- I agree with you about the emotional high of having children, and I appreciate your elucidation of the SPIRITUAL profit of being Hashem's partner in bringing them into the world!

(4)
diane benjamin,
July 15, 2001 12:00 AM

as a mother of 4,step-mother of 3;i feel happy that she finally hit the jackpot.

wonderful human interest story.

(3)
jackie,
July 15, 2001 12:00 AM

YES!!!!

Thank G-d someone finally wrote this article. I am a religious Jewish woman who married at the age of 35. I have had two miscarriages thus far. When I got pregnant the first time, all the feelings that Sarah felt, feelings I never knew I had, welled up in me.
I had lived with my parents until shortly before I got married. I was relishing my freedom and privacy. It was my own space, my own chance to do things my way never to hear "well this is OUR house. The privacy was awesome. Getting married was an adjustment but you can share your life with an adult.
When I got pregnant I realized that I didn't want to give that up. I had only just started to have it. I didn't want to go through the next G-d knows how many years with no sleep and a filthy house and no privacy ever. I will probably have to give up my job and move when I have a child. I'm used to my job and I didn't want to move.

*sigh* I do believe what Sara is saying. That is why I am going for therapy etc to get over these feelings. I wish I knew what dream gave her that healing power to embrace the change. I also wish she had discussed what ways she nurtures herself. I work at a health care job. When I come home I am sucked dry. You can't run on empty indefinitely. What does she do that is for herself? Has anyone else had these feelings? I hope there are more comments. I think we need a support group. I felt so ashamed because noone admits to these feelings and noone seemed able to relate to my feelings. This article is Heaven sent. Hope to see more responses.

(2)
Devorah Weitzman,
July 15, 2001 12:00 AM

I love Sara's writing -

it's clean, crisp and straight from the heart.

(1)
Anonymous,
July 15, 2001 12:00 AM

Woman was too self-centered in her youth

To be so consumed with self is not unusual among children born in the 60s and 70s. The "me" generation thought the only life was one of investing oneself in areas that gave gratification to oneself. Hence, divorse, drug addictions and poor family life. Maybe she was wise to wait until she could view family life from a unified angle instead of how it will just effect her.

I'm told that it's a mitzvah to become intoxicated on Purim. This puzzles me, because to my understanding, it is not considered a good thing to become intoxicated, period.

One of the characteristics of the at-risk youth is their use of drugs, including alcohol. In my experience, getting drunk doesn't reveal secrets. It makes people act stupid and irresponsible, doing things they would never do if they were sober. Also, I know a lot about the horrible health effects of abusing alcohol, because I work at a research center that focuses on addiction and substance abuse.

Also, I am an alcoholic, which means that if I drink, very bad things happen. I have not had a drink in 22 years, and I have no intention of starting now. Surely there must be instances where a person is excused from the obligation to drink. I don't see how Judaism could ever promote the idea of getting drunk. It just doesn't seem right.

The Aish Rabbi Replies:

Putting aside for a moment all the spiritual and philosophical reasons for getting drunk on Purim, this remains an issue of common sense. Of course, teenagers should be warned of the dangers of acute alcohol ingestion. Of course, nobody should drink and drive. Of course, nobody should become so drunk to the point of negligence in performing mitzvot. And of course, a recovering alcoholic should not partake of alcohol on Purim.

Indeed, the Code of Jewish Law explicitly says that if one suspects the drinking may affect him negatively, then he should NOT drink.

Getting drunk on Purim is actually one of the most difficult mitzvot to do correctly. A person should only drink if it will lead to positive spiritual results - e.g. under the loosening affect of the alcohol, greater awareness will surface of the love for God and Torah found deep in the heart. (Perhaps if we were on a higher spiritual level, we wouldn't need to get drunk!)

Yet the Talmud still speaks of an obligation on Purim of "not knowing the difference between Blessed is Mordechai and Cursed is Haman." How then should a person who doesn't drink get the point of “not knowing”? Simple - just go to sleep! (Rama - OC 695:2)

All this applies to individuals. But the question remains - does drinking on Purim adversely affect the collective social health of the Jewish community?

The aversion to alcoholism is engrained into Jewish consciousness from a number of Biblical and Talmudic sources. There are the rebuking words of prophets - Isaiah 28:1, Hosea 3:1 with Rashi, and Amos 6:6, and the Zohar says that "The wicked stray after wine" (Midrash Ne'alam Parshat Vayera).

It is well known that the rate of alcoholism among Jews has historically been very low. Numerous medical, psychological and sociological studies have confirmed this. The connection between Judaism and sobriety is so evident, that the following conversation is reported by Lawrence Kelemen in "Permission to Receive":

When Dr. Mark Keller, editor of the Quarterly Journal of Studies on Alcohol, commented that "practically all Jews do drink, and yet all the world knows that Jews hardly ever become alcoholics," his colleague, Dr. Howard Haggard, director of Yale's Laboratory of Applied Physiology, jokingly proposed converting alcoholics to the Jewish religion in order to immerse them in a culture with healthy attitudes toward drinking!

Perhaps we could suggest that it is precisely because of the use of alcohol in traditional ceremonies (Kiddush, Bris, Purim, etc.), that Jews experience such low rates of alcoholism. This ceremonial usage may actually act like an inoculation - i.e. injecting a safe amount that keeps the disease away.

Of course, as we said earlier, all this needs to be monitored with good common sense. Yet in my personal experience - having been in the company of Torah scholars who were totally drunk on Purim - they acted with extreme gentleness and joy. Amid the Jewish songs and beautiful words of Torah, every year the event is, for me, very special.

Adar 12 marks the dedication of Herod's renovations on the second Holy Temple in Jerusalem in 11 BCE. Herod was king of Judea in the first century BCE who constructed grand projects like the fortresses at Masada and Herodium, the city of Caesarea, and fortifications around the old city of Jerusalem. The most ambitious of Herod's projects was the re-building of the Temple, which was in disrepair after standing over 300 years. Herod's renovations included a huge man-made platform that remains today the largest man-made platform in the world. It took 10,000 men 10 years just to build the retaining walls around the Temple Mount; the Western Wall that we know today is part of that retaining wall. The Temple itself was a phenomenal site, covered in gold and marble. As the Talmud says, "He who has not seen Herod's building, has never in his life seen a truly grand building."

Some people gauge the value of themselves by what they own. But in reality, the entire concept of ownership of possessions is based on an illusion. When you obtain a material object, it does not become part of you. Ownership is merely your right to use specific objects whenever you wish.

How unfortunate is the person who has an ambition to cleave to something impossible to cleave to! Such a person will not obtain what he desires and will experience suffering.

Fortunate is the person whose ambition it is to acquire personal growth that is independent of external factors. Such a person will lead a happy and rewarding life.

With exercising patience you could have saved yourself 400 zuzim (Berachos 20a).

This Talmudic proverb arose from a case where someone was fined 400 zuzim because he acted in undue haste and insulted some one.

I was once pulling into a parking lot. Since I was a bit late for an important appointment, I was terribly annoyed that the lead car in the procession was creeping at a snail's pace. The driver immediately in front of me was showing his impatience by sounding his horn. In my aggravation, I wanted to join him, but I saw no real purpose in adding to the cacophony.

When the lead driver finally pulled into a parking space, I saw a wheelchair symbol on his rear license plate. He was handicapped and was obviously in need of the nearest parking space. I felt bad that I had harbored such hostile feelings about him, but was gratified that I had not sounded my horn, because then I would really have felt guilty for my lack of consideration.

This incident has helped me to delay my reactions to other frustrating situations until I have more time to evaluate all the circumstances. My motives do not stem from lofty principles, but from my desire to avoid having to feel guilt and remorse for having been foolish or inconsiderate.

Today I shall...

try to withhold impulsive reaction, bearing in mind that a hasty act performed without full knowledge of all the circumstances may cause me much distress.

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